Mayday Seasons
by Soul Music
Summary: An internationally recognised distress signal, but one that brings hope, freedom and life. Pre-NCIS. All That I'm After: Three.
1. Chapter 1

**Mayday Seasoning**

_an internationally recognized distress signal via radiotelephone_

"Mayday! Mayday! This is Cougar 6781 Med-Evac requiring immediate assistance." The frantic voice crackled over the cross country intercom.

"_Cougar 6781, this is air control tower 878, please state your emergency."_

"Control tower, we've lost power in engine one, require emergency landing!"

"_Stand by 6781."_

"Standing by…Matthews, localise that power relay, Jenkins warn passengers, get the patients secured this ain't gunna be pretty, Terrenine, you-."

"_Cougar 6781 this is control. Come in 6781."_

"This is 6781."

"_How much longer can you withstand flight, 6781?"_

"No more than five minutes, we're loosing power on all frequencies. Repeat, require emergency landing!"

"_Stand by, 6781."_

"Standing by…again." Frantic activity ripped through the cock-pit. "Matthews, get that back! Terrenine, get back here, strap yourself in and take the mishtink."

"Aye, sir."

"_Cougar 6781 you are cleared for landing, co-ordinates 6134.23. Can you make it, 6781?"_

"We'll try Control. 6134.23. Care to tell us the final destination?"

"_6134.23 Confirmed, 6781. Safe landing at Rhode Island."_

"Duly noted, Control. Cougar 6781 out."

Through the dusky skies of the American coastline, the Cougar designated 6781 shot straight through a cloud barrier, the pilot furiously attempting to keep the nose from diving straight into the tarmac of the runway at the speed of sound.

"Air Control Rhode Island, this is Cougar 6781."

"_Welcome to Rhode Island Control. Runway two, Cougar. How many crew?"_

"Three med passengers, one patient, six crew. Many thanks, R.I. Control."

The plane hit the tarmac with more force than a buffalo in full gallop. The wheels screeched, the pressure snapping the chrome coloured supports. With a spark throwing crunch the entire plane smashed down onto its stomach, tail spinning out across the dead grass of Rhode Island Military Academy's second runway.

The resting place of Cougar 6781 was at the base of Rhode Island Control tower, the wings smashed to pieces, both their engines dead to the world, two passengers dead, four unconscious, one pilot dead, the rest of the crew in intensive care. That made for nine patients, only one of which had been a patient in the first place.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The smell of disinfectant hit his senses first, letting the light burn through his eyelids on a close second. He scrunched his eyes shut tighter, Jesus his head hurt. Swallowing thickly, he weakly attempted to open his eyes. What had woken him….wait what was the last thing he remembered?

_The hot, baking sun grilling his skin in an impromptu barbeque, the grit beneath his fingertips as he dragged himself forward. There was no release from the torture, nothing to stem his parched throat or stop the dull throb against the back of his skull. Dark, sticky mass against the base of his neck, quickly dried by the unrelenting blazing fireball. How could something millions of miles away be causing so much suffering? The sand, coming up to meet him as he fell. Hat gone. Water gone. Gun gone. Platoon missing. Pain…no that was present. The only thing left as the darkness closed in like a blessed blanket of cold._

His blue eyes snapped open and he immediately regretted it. The light burned against his retinas, snapping his eyelids shut again.

"You know, you probably shouldn't do that." A quiet voice said from somewhere near his left elbow. With a stupendous effort the marine rolled his head on the soft - was that a pillow beneath his head? – pillow and attempted to squint his eyes open again.

A blurry figure came into focus, sitting back in a chair off to his left.

"Probably shouldn't do that either, doc told me just to let you rest." The voice was unfamiliar and…young. Now, he'd been in the marines for a good few years and there were plenty of youthful voices carried around in the barracks, but this was even more so.

"You really don't look so hot, can I get ya something?" The figure – at least he assumed it was the bleary, swimming figure talking as he couldn't seem to focus – asked.

This was all far, far too confusing. Rest sounding good about now.

He slipped back into rest.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The figure leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"So much for company." He muttered to himself, drumming long fingers on the wooden arm of his borrowed chair. A figure opened the curtain which had obscured the rest of the ward from this particular bed, glancing over at the chair.

"You still here, DiNozzo?"

The boy shrugged. "Got ordered to make sure he doesn't lapse into a coma."

"Your DI hate you or something? Put you on concussion watch, that's harsh." The young doctor picked up the chart at the end of the bed, flicking through the scribbled notes.

"Ya don't have to remind me, Doctor Preston." DiNozzo muttered, resuming his drumming.

"So, what's changed with Sergeant Gibbs?" The doctor turned to the young RIMA solider, taking a pen out of his top pocket.

"Woke up a few minutes ago, then went back to sleep, done it twice in the past hour. Most interesting thing going on here." The boy sighed, glancing at the sleeping marine with his head bandaged and his beeping machines monotonously telling him that, yes, he was still alive.

"Well, if he wakes up again, properly, give me a shout." Doctor Preston replaced the chart and exited, pulling the curtain closed behind him.

"Looks like it's just you and me again, Sergeant." DiNozzo griped, slouching slightly in the chair. "Well, I guess this is a one sided conversation, but that does mean you can't complain. I'm Tony, Tony DiNozzo, Lance Corporal Tony DiNozzo to be exact, but who's looking on formalities, eh? Oh…kay. So, I'm here to make you keep living or something like that, kinda drew the short straw there, didn't I? I mean, you're like a marine, you don't just lapse into comas and stuff. Nah, too boring for you guys.

So, I bet you're wondering 'why me'. I'm thinkin' that too. See, I'm on my medical rotation, it's my third year here and I gotta learn all the ropes of…life maybe? So…yeah, I got picked. We all got given some invalid from the plane crash. Sweet crash too! We saw it from the barracks, they got you all out before the whole thing went up in this massive fireball. Got told the flight was from the front lines, that true? Why d'you get sent back, well, the head thing of course, how'd you get that? Was it in combat or something, that would be awesome, hand to hand with the enemy and you get conked on the head, or did ya get gun whipped, that can kill ya know, gettin' gun whi-."

"Shut up." A weary voice cut through the monologue, drawing the young mans eyes towards the bedridden individual, the marine'e eyes still closed.

"Uh, does this count as you being awake, 'cos I have to get Doc Preston if you are. Are you awake?"

"No." The reply came.

"Oh…then maybe you should rest? I dunno what you're supposed to do with head traumas, I got my textbook over there but I find it works better as a door stop than actual bedside reading." Tony shrugged, shifting his feet to lean them against the mechanical railing beneath the bed. By the time he'd settled down his patient had fallen asleep.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The next appearance Sergeant Gibbs made to the world of the living was, once again, punctuated by the soft murmur of voices. The boys, the same doctors voices. Same people, he could deal with that.

"Tony, you have a phone call." Preston's voice was barely above a whisper, yet Gibbs couldn't make himself swing his head around and open his eyes, so he just listened.

"A phone call, from whom?" The boy answered his voice just as quiet.

"Your father."

"My…father." Gibbs noted the hesitation with a flex of confusion. "Uhm, d'you know what he's calling about."

"I'm a doctor, kid, not a secretary, if you use that phone press for extension five." The sound of footsteps moving off, the creak of a chair, click of a phone.

"Hello?...I'm well, Father, thank-you….Yes…I understand…Thank-you, Father…Yes, goodnight." The entire conversation took less than two minutes. The click of a phone and the repeated creak of the chair as the boy sat down again.

"Well at least he called in person." Was the only thing the usually overly talkative young man could say, his voice a dull shade of its usual exuberance.

With a sigh, Gibbs shifted his head across, blue eyes cracking open towards the deflated teenager. Tony flicked his eyes towards Gibbs, immediately sitting up.

"Sergeant Gibbs. I'll get a doctor."

"Tony-."

But the boy had already scrambled to his feet to fetch the ever around Doctor Preston. He didn't return when the doctor appeared.

"Ah, Sergeant. How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Of course you are," Preston mumbled, a doctor's brand of sarcasm.

Preston's examination was quick and thorough, and silent. Preston snapped off a medical glove with a decided click.

"I have a feeling you may be slightly confused, may I explain?"

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"Your Med-Evac lost power from one engine on your way to Bethesda. The nearest place to land was here, at Rhode Island Military Academy. The landing didn't exactly go smoothly and most of the crew either didn't survive or are in here for observation. Here being the medical centre of RIMA, obviously. You have a concussion but you should make a complete recovery. Now, if you need anything ask for me, I'm doctor Preston, but we're more informal here. Jason. Tony, the boy who's been assigned to you, he'll be around if you need something. Does this make sense?"

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"Good. I'll just run through some routine questions. Can you tell me your name?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Jethro Gibbs."

"Good, and the date?"

"Uh, nineteenth? December."

"Hmn, fair enough you have been travelling, it's the twenty third of December."

_Christmas eve tomorrow?_

"I suggest you rest, Sergeant Gibbs, I'll wake you up for another check soon."

The days went past in the same fashion. Wake up and check, get caught trying to get out of bed by the ever vigilant young man stationed by his bed, sleep. That was it.

By the time the twenty fifth had rolled around the entire ward was surprisingly empty. The only remaining occupants were himself, his 'watcher', Doctor Preston and the injured pilot who seemed still to be in a coma.

Gibbs chose a moment when Tony hadn't arrived in the morning and Preston was scouting about something in his office. He slid out from under the covers, grabbing the scrub pants which had been left clean pressed for Preston by a maid.

The corridor leading out from the ward was short and lead straight to industrial wooden doors. Outside snow was swirling in an endless torrent, a weak winter sun peaking through dense cloud cover. Gibbs took a deep breath, the lad coat he'd also grabbed little protection against the winter onslaught.

Still, it felt so good to be outside again. He did very, very badly when cooped up inside somewhere, it felt like a prison.

The entire place was empty, barren. A long, spreading sports field was covered in a sheet of snow and slipping ice, beyond the outlines of a shadowed assault course iced with laden snow. The concrete paths were hardly touched, only one set of foot prints leading in and out from the building, even the railings leading down the stone steps from the infirmary were topped with a small hedge of the white powdered material.

Steam spread out from Gibbs breath as he took a deep inhale of _America. _It seemed so long since he'd been here, on this soil. He'd get out of here soon, head back down to Washington, see his girls again. He hadn't called them yet, didn't want them to worry. It was only a small concussion anyway, nothing to make a deal about, but he knew his Shannon, she would.

His musings were cut short by the sound of an engine spoiling the tranquil, quiet settings of the Christmas Eve morning. His blue eyes searched for the source of the noise, one dark eyebrow raising as a slick, shining black car turned the corner of the concrete path, its wheels slowly crunching over the fallen snow. The car was put into park gently, the engine dying in a soft noise.

The driver eyed Gibbs carefully as he stepped out, thick winter coat bundled around his tall frame.

"Sergeant Gibbs? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Shouldn't you be at home for Christmas?" Gibbs countered easily, his voice vaguely scratchy. Tony considered this for a moment but finaly just shrugged.

"Touché." Gibbs took another breath of the fresh air that surrounded RIMA, watching the young man absentmindedly buff the side of the car with a sleeve.

"Nice ride, yours?" The marine asked casually, descending the steps towards the black car. Tony blinked.

"Yeah, she's mine. Took me three years to save up for her." The boy frowned. "You know you're not wearing any shoes right?"

A smile quirked the side of Gibbs' mouth. "I had noticed."

"Okay, well I'm going inside because I'm normal and therefore cold. You should too in case Doctor Preston has a coronary because you've snuck out. He told me if I did it again he'd tie me to the bed and I don't think he's lying. He's not one for all the jokes and stuff." Gibbs registered that under 'hmm, interesting'. Tony shrugged, locking the elegant muscle car and making his way up the steps. Unexpectedly, Gibbs followed him.

"So, what make of car is she?" The marine struck up a conversation as they made their way along the corridor.

"Jemima? She's a 1971 Dodge Challenger RT."

"…Jemima." Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Jemima." Tony smiled to himself, "Bought and restored her myself." He shoved his hands in his pockets, pushing the door open with a shoulder.

"DiNozzo!" A voice shouted, causing the boy to wince involuntarily. Another item for the 'hmm, interesting' filing cabinet.

"What the hell were you thinking, taking the Sergeant outside, he's still in recovery. Good Lord, boy, haven't you been taught anything." Doctor Preston stormed out of his office, his face dark.

"Doc, I didn't. I found him out there."

"Yeah, because he escaped. He's not you, Anthony."

"Doctor Preston. I escaped."

* * *

This'll just be a little short one, who knows where the ideas come from but, ah well, it's just gunna be a few chapters anyway!

**Eryn**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: How To Feel  
****The Light – The Album Leaf – Into The Blue Again**

Doctor Preston obviously wasn't impressed by the answer given to him by the stubborn Gunny. His jaw tightened slightly, the scowl lines along the side of his lips becoming more evident.

"I would tell you to get back into bed, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, if I thought it would help. I'm your physician, not your keeper. If you want to make a full recovery, I advise taking my advice rather than your own Maverick tendencies." The doctor scowled slightly, shoving his hands dramatically into the pockets of his white coat and stalking back to his office, arms tight at his sides.

Tony raised an eyebrow with a release of a breath. "I think that's one of his better speeches, usually he goes on about how he's liable to be sued and stuff." The teen shrugged, pushing up onto one of the bare and vacant beds, swinging his legs up and leaning back against the naked pillows.

"You know, watchin' over you was so much easier when you were still unconscious." The boy commented with a grin, one leg hanging over the end of the bed at the knee. Gibbs observed the calm position for a moment before reluctantly treading over to his own bed. As much as he didn't want to show Doc Preston that he might in fact be right, he wasn't feel as hot as he could've been. It would've been fine if the kid hadn't picked up on it, what was up with the kid? He was like a human emotion detector.

"Ha! Doc was right, you need sleep. Well, don't worry, I got a book, you won't slide into a coma with Lance Corporal DiNozzo at the helm!"

Gibbs rolled his eyes, leaning back against the slightly dishevelled pillows he's left when he'd moved from the bed-prision.

"Learn when to shut up, kid." Gibbs muttered, turning over onto one side. Not that this deflated the well oiled hinges of this kids jaw.

"So, amazingly unkind. What did I do to deserve that? If I weren't assigned to keep you _alive _I'd be out-"

"Home?" Doctor Preston interrupted snarkily, once gain prowling from his office with a cup of coffee in one hand. "Why is it you're _always _here, DiNozzo?" He questioned, leaning against the wall with his shoulders, coffee mug in one hand.

"Don't know whatcha mean, Doc." The young man gave a patented smile, tossing his car keys from one hand to another in a psychologist's dream of a nervous twitch.

"Yeah ya do. Holidays, weekends off, you're always here. Don't you live in New York?"

"You're the one with access to my medical records, you know where I live." The boy's voice was loosing warmth.

"It seems like an easy way to do things when I could just ask."

Gibbs could _feel _the cold glare the doctor was receiving from the young man in front of him.

"Fine, I'm just going to refill this coffee, do anything dangerous and I'll surgically remove your kneecaps whilst you're awake." A horrible threat to be totally honest, but Tony had had worse, threats that weren't empty like that one.

There was a rare silence in the ward, broken by...nothing. It was just silent. But, oddly enough, it was Gibbs who decided to break it, casting a cool blue gaze over to the young man staring after the retreating doctor.

"Who d'you loose?" Blunt, to the point, causing a sharp turn of the head and a glare as piercing as a ten inch needle.

"Excuse me?" The question was dripping icicles.

"You lost someone, someone close, who?"

"Why d'you want to know?"

"Confirmation."

"No, no, that... it wasn't."

"That was."

The silence stretched out whilst the glare grew deeper.

"Mother." Was the simple, clipped reply. There wasn't even a flinch from the Gunnery Sergeant across the room.

"You don't seem all that upset about it." Okay, he was being cruel, but at this point, it didn't quite matter, information with the bells of 'hmm interesting' were directing his tongue.

"Haven't given myself time to be. Keep on the move." Was the reply, but the eye contact was broken, the young man staring across the stark wall of the ward.

"Have to face it sometime."

"And when that fateful day comes, I'll drop the ball and collapse in a sobbing, quivering heap amongst the ruins of my life...or I won't stop."

"Isn't that slightly naive for a smart kid like you."

"Maybe I'm not as smart as you think." The reply was soft and uttered rather than spoken outright. The boy's head moved ever so slightly down, eyes more focused on the knee currently hanging off the side of the bare mattress than anything else. Or maybe the focus was far, far more internal. There was movement, but neither Gibbs nor Tony noticed it, not until Doctor Preston happened to speak out.

"Tony...I didn't know."

"Ya didn't ask, Doc. No point in tellin' if no-one asks. That'll just bring on the sympathy." In Tony's eyes there was almost nothing worse than someone saying they're sorry after a tragedy. It wasn't their fault, why the hell were they apologising for it. Better to have no sympathy than verbal reassurance that something would happen. First thing a friend had asked when he'd returned from the funeral was 'Are you okay', the only answer he could come up with was 'I'll be fine...at least that's what people keep telling me.' Everyone told you you'd be okay, you'd be the strong one. Yeah, right. It was just the sudden unnecessary guilt talking over everything else. No, no need to sympathy.

But, apparently Preston didn't understand. Sure, everyone had their own brand of sympathy, and this was possible the most frustrating.

"Why aren't you at home, son, with your father, siblings, surely they'll need your support just as you need theirs." Tony brought up his eyes, which had gone from the bright flare of life to the dark, almost blank style of cold.

"My brother died in the fire, there would be hardly any point in going home for his support, it would be just that bit creepy. I'm not one for talking to gravestones. My father? He'd rather I didn't ruin his... scotch induced sorrows. Look Doctor Preston; my brother once told me, actually when my dog died, that life is just a one way ticket to death, we'll all get there eventually, it just depends on how long the delays are at each station. Stop pushin', Doc, you're not writing a paper on me."

Tony slipped off the bed, coat still bundled around his shoulders, sliding past the stunned medical practitioner and letting the echo of his footfalls fade away down the otherwise empty corridor. Jason Preston turned astonished eyes on the impassive Marine, receiving nothing for his confused look except the cold air of a job handled badly.

Gibbs rubbed a hand across his jaw as the doctor resigned himself to his office with a thick swallow and an open mouth – not a word came out.

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It was slightly surreal as an hour or so later, Gibbs ventured back out into the brisk chill of the December...afternoon? Yeah, afternoon now.

The large, elegant black Dodge Charger was still standing alongside a snow drift, the windows rolled up, the windscreen fogged over and the doors shut. Having snatched a change of clothes from one of the easily opened cabinets in the ward, Gibbs was actually properly dressed for now, scrubs, thick coat someone had left behind and a pair of thick slipper shoes. Making his way down the steps of the medical centre, the marine tapped softly on the nearest window, the passenger side.

There was silence from within the car, and whilst he couldn't see another through the steamed up window, Gibbs felt the presence of movement just before the tell-tale click of the door release opened the door a few inches. Sliding his fingers into the jam, Gibbs pulled the black door open slightly further, slipping inside without glancing at the figure in the driving seat.

Gibbs finally stole a look at the boy bundled in the driver's seat, something hastily replaced in the strap over the sun visor.

"Why's she called Jemima?" Gibbs asked after a few minutes of unusual un-awkward silence. That quirked a smile from the young man as he reached over to the glove box. It opened with a slight creak of second hand hinges. Inside was some sort of cracking leather covered manual, an ID card and...a bottle. Gibbs carefully drew it out, glancing at the faded, worn label with designated the bottle to be. 'Aunt Jemima's Original Syrup'.

Gibbs couldn't repress the smile.

"Was there when I bought her." The boy's voice was slightly hoarse, but no less evident in the compact space. There was another long, drawn out pause. This one far more awkward. As the time ticked on, the boy's head grew steadily lower, in the end leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.

"Damn you." The voice was a mere whisper, but it carried in the frosted car.

"Why?"

"Memories. You brought up the bloody memories. It's been so long, I'd got a hold on it. I'd almost got a fucking hold on it!" The last line was accompanied by a hand smashing into the dashboard. Gibbs didn't move.

"I had it under control! I wasn't going to break down. I'm _not _going to. But, you come in. One day you come in a ruin everything!" The rant was more internal than meant to be heard.

"How long's it been?" It was a simple, ambiguous question.

"Nine months. Not long enough, yet."

"Too long, to hold it in, kid." There was a trembling in the young man's shoulders, even through his thick coat could be seen the quiet shake of shoulders and the distinct tremor of grieft.

"Could you have done something?" Gibbs question was quiet and sincere.

"Should've done everything." Mumbled plea. _Anything. Please_

"But, could you have done something?" Calm continuation.

"Should've done everything." Whispered repetition.

"Tony." Attention gained, it wasn't an order, just a name. "Could. You. Have some something?"

Silence reigned like a tyrant ready for his first great war. A question no-one had asked because everyone had assumed. Assumed he'd been there, he should've been there. But, something came up, something he'd apologised for. Someone needed him and he'd gone, family hadn't needed him as much but then...he should've been there. It wasn't a hard question. What could he have done? If he was there what would the difference be? He wasn't there.

"No." There was an almost minute nod from the marine.

"Why do this to yourself?" Gibbs voice was still the same calming line, something to hold onto whilst the facts, the figures, the voices, the arguments swirled like an encroaching black plague.

"Should've been there."

"Should've been you?" Tony's' eyes slipped shut.

"Shouldn't've been them."

With the soft words of denial, the strong facade developed over nine months of ignoring the facts, willing them not to be true and placing activities before the emotional baggage his heart carried like loam weights bouncing on his heart strings. He let go.

No fight was put up with a strong Gunnery Sergeant arm was slipped across the trembling shoulders and without conscious thought the slim teenager leant into the warmth of a second body, tears coursing down the pale cheeks.

Nothing was uttered in the moments passed. Nothing needed to be said, not during, definitely not during.

The syrup bottle was placed carefully back into the glove compartment before the soft click of the lock served as the only sound in the misty car. Another arm encircled the boy, his head buried in the starched cotton of the scrubs shirt whilst nine months of pain ebbed around in a frenzy before making an escape through the only method of sorrow that made sense right now. A hand gripped the strong marine forearm, long fingers enclosing around the limb as a lifeline of unspoken debt.

Nothing was needed when speaking so clearly from a means of non-vocal communication.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: So That I Can Feel The Rain  
****Dustbowl Dance - Mumford and Sons - Sigh No More**

_I've been kicked off my land at the age of sixteen_  
_And I have no idea where else my heart could have been_  
_I placed all my trust at the foot of this hill_  
_And now I am sure my heart can never be still_  
_So collect your courage and collect your horse_  
_And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse_

Gibbs glanced over at the only other occupied bed in the ward. After the heartfelt, painful, sobbing, the release of a young child clinging onto something new, the boy had bolted. Wrenched open the door of the car and sprinted for dear life up the snow banked concrete. And Gibbs hadn't done anything to stop him; it would've done him no good if he'd tried. Yelling after the boy would've done nothing than to spook him more than he'd already done to himself, running after him would've been useless due to his own medical history and he'd already done what he could for now. He didn't feel that any further action would benefit Tony right now. There were times when what you needed was to be alone to compact and release your thoughts.

_He'd stepped back into the warmly heated Medical Bays, slinking over to the bed only catching the eye of Doctor Jason Preston once as he manoeuvred onto the surprisingly comfortable, in his experience of hospital beds, bed. Preston strolled out of his office with a slightly awkward expression on his face as he wandered slowly over towards Gibbs' bed, the marine watching him carefully the whole while._

"_Gunnery Sergeant." Was the soft, awkward greeting from the doctor._

"_Doctor Preston." Gibbs replied perfectly amiably, moving his feet onto the bed and leaning back comfortably against the pillows._

"_And...uhm...how is he?"_

"_How d'you think, Doctor. He's a kid that tried to stay stoic about his mother and his brother's death for nine months without any form of release. Yeah, he's jumpin' over the moon." Gibbs deadpanned with a glint in his pale eye which the doctor couldn't meet._

"_Do you have children, Gunny?"_

"_A daughter." A nod followed by a soft answer. His daughter, just a beautiful seven years old._

"_Me too, I have two. Never was all that good with boys, teenagers especially, the wife tells me to get over it...but I can't do it. I don't know what I can do to help, I've seen neglect cases, I even wrote my dissertation on abuse cases when I studied psychology. I find myself at a loss here." He petered off, rubbing his jaw with a large hand. Gibbs let the doctor mumble on, what was it his business to interrupt the internal mumblings of the distressed man. But, what was it his place to take away that distress, he'd brought it on himself."_

"_What happened out there?" Was the final question from the flustered man, a hand through his thick hair._

"_Not my place to say, but, he's gone to cool off." Gibbs gave a non-committal answer and a shrug._

"_I should've known, it was staring me in the face, right in front of me. He might not seem it, but this is him being withdrawn, ever since he came back from the last family meeting. It was even on the news, I checked. I should've known."_

"_Doctor." Gibbs finally broke through the litany of self-pity. "And what would you've done once you knew. Comforted him? Ya think you could've done better than anyone else? Counselled him? You think he would've taken your advice or even confided in you. It took him nine months to tell you. How much do you even see Tony?" _

_The doctor paused for a moment._

"_He's been in every day for his medical rotation." Came the hesitant reply._

"_And that's been...what? A few months. You won't gain his trust in that long, he's not that sort of kid."_

"_And how would you know, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs? You've known him for less than a day, barely talked to him." Preston bristled haughtily._

"_I've seen enough to know he's just a kid in need of support."_

"_And you don't believe a trained psychologist and doctor can help."_

"_No, Doctor Preston, I don't believe you can help."_

_The doctor simply stared._

* * *

_The young man sat alone in the silent barracks, head resting on his palm as a final tear slid down a heated and already tear streaked cheek. The other hand held a shaking photograph. It was slightly blurred, as if someone had just jogged the photographer in the middle of the take. Two boys stood, a taller boy with his arm securely around the younger, both grinning identical grins at the camera. The setting was a dark suited wedding, the bride could be seen just in the background behind the two suited boys. Turning over the photograph, the elegant cursive handwriting of his mother. _Nicoli and Anthony, age 10 & 15, 24th August, Jennifer's wedding

_Another photograph, this time the photograph grabbed from the sunviser in Jemima. A snow covered New York manicured lawn. Trees scraped up at the sky in the background, laden with white powder. A dark coated child had his arm thrown forward, the newly thrown snowball having just struck another boy straight in the shoulder as he peaked out from behind a tree. Turn over the photograph. _Nicoli and Anthony, age 12 & 17, 2nd January, Snowball Fight

_The last photograph from the car. A beautiful darked haired woman, her hair plaited loosely over one shoulder, smiling brightly at a young man with a guitar whilst a slightly younger boy stood on the chair behind, grinning over his brothers shoulder. The photograph had a crease down the side, folding off the edge of the picture. With shaking fingers, the young man completely unfolded the photograph, revealing the doorway of the room where a stern face was looking in, the dark eyes almost black in the darkened photograph. Quaking fingers refolded the picture, turning it over just enough to rip the folded section away, careful to not take the cursive words after it. _Nicoli, Anthony and me, age 15 & 20, last night before Nicki's college. _The ripped off section was deftly dropped to the floor as the last photograph lay in his lap, almost as if it was discarded._

Nicoli and Anthony, age 17 & 22, 18th March, My Young Men _The last photograph taken. On that day. Clara DiNozzo's boys on the perfected DiNozzo estate lawn. Nick DiNozzo had Tony in a headlock, grinning widly at the camera, just about to tackle the young teenager to the ground. If it had been a film that's what it would've shown. Two happily rough housing young men before Tony recieved a call from a friend. Asking if he wanted to hang out, play hoops. He was going out with his mother and brother, just a casual lunch. He could do that again another time, right? That's what they all said before. No longer. _

_"It should've been me, too." Came the broken plea before all the photographs fluttered to the cold, dry floor._

It had been dark outside, the lights turned off in the sick bay and the on-call medic dozing quietly in his room down the corridor, Preston having left for the day, when the doors creaked open softly. Gibbs stayed perfectly still as the footsteps moved across the lino floor towards the empty bed earlier occupied. And that's where, half an hour later when Gibbs had rolled over, Tony DiNozzo had been curled up, shoes left neatly on the floor, covered only by his thick coat, lay soundly asleep.

Quietly as possible, Gibbs himself slipped out of bed, pulling one of his unnecessary sheets which were folded at the foot of the bed. He carefully draped the blanket over the boy, covering his shoulders before retreating to his bed. "G'night Lance Corporal." In his sleep, the boy didn't even stir.

* * *

The next morning Gibbs woke to the unmistakable tone of voice; a lecture. From a stern voice he didn't recognise. His head only throbbed slightly this morning, an improvement.

"Ah, I didn't expect to find you here, Lance Corporal DiNozzo, I expected you in your barracks, but no matter. Now, Lance Corporal, I need you to understand. You need to either contact your father or I shall do so for you. You can't stay here, this is the only January holiday into which our entire staff has found a time to release to their families. We can't have just one cadet left behind. Now, the number please, or must I look through your personal files. I really do not wish to have to do that..." There was a stiff, awkward pause. "Lance Corporal DiNozzo, what _exactly _are you doing?"

Tony's voice was the next to join the 'conversation'. "I'm multi-tasking, sir."

"Doing what, pray?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm day dreaming whilst pretending to listen."

Gibbs couldn't help but chuckle softly under his breath.

"Listen, young man!" The same, indignant lecturer continued with a deep sigh. "Am I going to call or are you?"

There was a slightly hysterical laugh from the boy, a creak of a bed spring.

"You know what, sir? It wouldn't really matter. The only number I can call will get through to some sort of company switchboard, then you'll be directed to the secretary of the secretary of the secretary who will probably have a list in front of them headed 'who to lie to and say the boss is out in a meeting whenever they call', I'll tell ya, I'm the top of that list." The voice was slightly higher than normal. There was an exasperated sigh and retreating footsteps before Gibbs rolled over onto his back, blue eyes immediately meeting the green ones, the previous black smudges which had been so prominent the day before were fading slightly; his eyes no longer sparkling green surrounded by a rim of red.

"Good morning, sir." The young man's voice was polite, if slightly tentative.

"Lance Corporal." He greeted the morning voice back.

"And...you heard all of that." Tony dropped the eye contact to the bed spread still covering his legs, the book he'd obviously been reading before his CO had appeared lying spine up on one knee.

Gibbs just nodded in the affirmative. Tony nodded back, the silence obviously uncomfortable for him as he fiddled with the corner of his book.

"They say they're releasing you back into the wild, I'm...supposed to contact someone about, like, transport or something." Tony mumbled, giving a half shrug. "Want me to call...someone or...something, call ya a cab, medical records say you live in...Washington? That's like a seven hour drive or something." He rambled on, successfully tearing a few of the pages in the novel. Changing the subject, Gibbs craned his neck to see the book's spine.

"What you readin'?"

Tony glanced up, eye contact for a moment before breaking it again. "Captain Corelli's Mandolin." He gave a slight shrug again, unsubtly closing the novel. Gibbs himself had never read it, didn't really intend to.

"It's okay, but...I mean it's like walking along a sunlit street and then getting repeatedly hit over the head with a large stick. First half's all happy and charming, second half so far is just misery and...stuff." The boy rambled, tracing the title of the book with a forefinger. "Anyway, you're not really supposed to travel, but Doctor Preston said he can try and get you on a Med-Evac if you want to get to Bethesda or something?"

"And where're you gunna go, Lance Corporal?"

Tony raised his eyebrows at the question, staring down at the back of his hands. "No offence, sir, but...I don't know if that's any of your business."

"No, true." Gibbs conceded calmly. "But, neither was yesterday, and that seemed to help." Even the air tensed in the room. You'd have to cut your way around Tony's bed with a hatchet from the amount of tension radiating from the kid. You could almost see him shaking with it.

Gibbs slid off his bed, disentangling his feet from the covers and stepped across to the bed. Green eyes watched him warily.

"Tony." The voice was soft and, maybe a hint of concern. No, he didn't get concern, he didn't like it, right...

"Tony, who else can take you in, just tell me and I'll arrange it." The boy's eyes flicked between the marine, the book and the far wall, thoughts flashing through his mind in a series of whirl winding levels of confusion. Finally his eyes settled on the book.

"There's no-one else they...they don't live in America...My family, except my father."

_And it doesn't seem like going back to him is a great plan. _Gibbs joined in the silent contemplation, rolling his still shoulders slightly.

"Look, sir, you don't have to do anything for me. I'll work it out, I always do, I'll just...catch a cab back to New York. It's only like three hours and I'll just...head home. It'll be fine." The resigned look in the boy's set jaw was only offset by his dropped eye contact and constant fiddling.

"I don't leave men behind, Lance Corporal." Came the response after a long pause. "How old are you, seventeen?"

"Yes, sir." Came the slightly confused reply as Tony blinked, turning his head towards the musing marine.

"Ten minutes on the phone, find Doc Preston." Frowning, Tony slid off the bed, grabbing his bundled coat from the mass of bed covers and nodded to Gibbs' request, slipping out of the medical bay, fleeting a quick look across at Gibbs, reaching out to the on-the-wall phone cradle.

The phone rang softly, the tone gurgling in Gibbs' ear before it picked up with the familiar voice.

"Hey, Dad." Gibbs couldn't help the slight smile quirk at the sides of his mouth.

Tony appeared a few moments later, hovering self-consciously as Gibbs finished up his phone call, blue eyes shining. Doctor Preston bustled in a few moments later.

"You called Gibbs?" He looked up from the chart he'd been reading.

"I'm signing myself out." He didn't add AMA, he doubted the affect would be needed.

"Out? Really? Now you could've just asked me to do it for you. I suppose Lance Corporal DiNozzo found you some suitable transportation. " Gibbs quirked an eyebrow in response.

"Actually, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs did that by himself, he's a very capable marine." Gibbs shot an amused look at the young man, who was obviously fighting back the urge to chuckle, but he held his facade long enough for Gibbs to turn away. Then he heard the quiet snigger.

"I see. Well, as long as you have somewhere to go and some way to get there and someone to stay with?" Preston questioned, picking up Gibbs chart from the end of his bed.

"Affirmative to all three."

"Who are you staying with."

"With my father." Out the corner of his eye, Gibbs checked on Tony, the boy's head had snapped around slightly, but only momentarily changed expression. Preston nodded slowly.

"I'll bring you your papers and I shall return shortly. Now, Anthony, that brings me to you. How and where are you staying?"

Tony opened his mouth, shut it and pouted slightly, staring once again at the back of his hand.

"I got him a lift, the Academy signed him out into my care for the holiday." Gibbs stated calmly, taking a seat in a vacant chair, stretching out his legs in front of him, resting comfortably in the chair.

Two stunned pairs of eyes stared at him in disbelief.

_Seal my heart and brake my pride  
I've nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide  
Align my heart, my body, my mind  
To face what I've done and do my time_

_Well yes sir, yes sir, yes it was me_  
_I know what I've done, cause I know what I've seen_  
_I went out back and I got the gun_  
_I said, "You haven't met me, I am your only son"_

**Might be a bit of a break before number 4 comes up or the next of DTOR, but if I can get another chapter up this week then I will. Thanks!**

**Eryn [Soul Music]**


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